Buildings Don't Fall
by tearstainednote
Summary: Falling for him was slightly akin to getting soap in your eye. It was enticing to her, in a way that she knew was sort of wrong. Like he was there, but not really there.


**AN: **I'm sick, and this is the product of being bedridden for a week. I haven't seen a lot of the first half of season 4, so I apologize for any inaccuracies. This is slightly AU anyway. The entire Woodbury plot never existed, Michonne rescued Andrea after the attack on the farm and they found the prison together, and whatever else I decide.

A series of drabbles that should have happened, but didn't.

.

_But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing's changed at all?  
x_

"Quit movin' so much."

She figures that was his problem in the first place. Maybe if he hadn't been running around so much, he wouldn't have impaled his arm on a stupid branch and she wouldn't be sitting here playing doctor when she should be getting rest for Rick's training tomorrow.

"Fuckin' deer," she hears his raspy curse under his breath, but decides not to say anything as she focuses on the gauze she's wrapping around his bicep. "You're lucky," she decides, "It could 'a been a lot worse." Judith's got a cold so she's been busy with her all day, but from what she understands, he was chasing a deer and slipped on a rock, landing arm-first on a sharp branch sticking out of the mud.

"But it ain't." he mutters conclusively as he watches her tiny fingers disinfect a scratch on his chest. He pretends not to notice the way her thumb slightly brushes over his protruding collar bone, and watches her hair fall into her face as she concentrates on what she's doing. He's always noticed little things like that about her. Like when she's thinking or concentrating hard on something, her lower lip sticks out just a little bit. But he can't help that he's attentive, right? And she's not the _only_ one he's paid attention to; When Rick gets frustrated, he taps his foot a lot. When Maggie's nervous, she clears her throat almost every ten seconds. When Glenn's lying or covering up the truth, he blinks way too much. Everyone has little characteristics, that one's just hers.

He kind of wants to laugh when she spreads a Monsters Inc. band aid over a cut on his chest, but doesn't. She prays he doesn't notice the blush that creeps onto her cheeks when she stares a little too long at the scratches on his toned abdomen. "Um…" she stammers nervously, "It was the last box at the drug store."

He shrugs it off and impatiently reaches for his shirt too quickly, a sharp pain shooting up his upper arm. He stiffens, grunts at the pain, and she stifles a chuckle at his frustration. "You should pro'ly hold off on runs 'til it heals." she recommends, reaching for his shirt before handing it to him. "Or at least 'til it gets better or the pain stops. I think we're out of Ibuprofen."

"Never used painkillers anyway." He hides his sour expression from her, and she tries not to notice. "An' walkers ain't gon' stop, so why should I?"

"Because you're hurt," she says obviously, standing up when he does.

"Hell, this ain't nothin'… I been through a lot worse." He tells her, and she believes him without a doubt. Daryl might not be a lot of things, but he's definitely tough. It's something she's always admired about him, if not the only thing. In fact, if you ask her, he's the strongest one of their group. Rick's great and all, but there's so much Daryl's done for them and doesn't get half the recognition. And sure, she studies everyone in their little makeshift family, but there's just so much behind Daryl that she _knows_ is there. She just can't figure out why he hides it. They're not close enough for her to talk to him about, if they're even close at all. In fact, she can't really remember the last time she had a conversation with him other than the norm. For a moment she wonders why he's never really said more than two sentences to her at a time.

He watches her yawn as she begins packing up the first-aid box that Carol had put together, and suddenly feels guilty for keeping her up so late. Rick's been training her lately on using bigger guns, and he's heard she's doing great.

"Judith feelin' any better?" he asks randomly, shrugging his good shoulder. She looks up at him from the floor, hair in her face as she stands with the wooden box of various medicines. "She's better… kind o' congested still, but better."

This is the most time they've spent together in weeks, and for some reason he's okay with it. He tends to keep to himself lately, and rarely makes time for anyone. He thinks that, of everyone, Beth seems the most together and he _really_ likes that. She stands on her toes to put the box high on a cabinet and her shirt rides up just a bit to reveal a sliver of smooth, tanned skin. His throat dries and he swallows hard as he forces himself to look away, cheeks flushing. She dusts her hands on her jeans out of habit and turns to look at him, smiling innocently at his flushed expression. "Everything okay?"

"M'fine." He says after a beat, turning around quickly to head back to his bunk. She bites her lip at the sight of his back, eyes raking over the many scars painted across it like a canvas. He never talks about it, and she realizes that she doesn't really know him at all.

She tries to ignore the warm feeling that settles in the pit of her stomach from staring at his toned shoulder blades as he leaves the dark, quiet room.

.

_This is it, the apocalypse. I'm waking up; I feel it in my bones, enough to make my systems blow.  
x_

He accidentally walks in on a private moment one morning. It's not _that_ bad and she's wrapped in a towel so he doesn't actually _see_ anything but he still feels like a pervert for even just glancing. Her hair's wet and falling down her back and he watches as she begins to brush it, singing to herself. He hides on the other side of the wall so she won't see him, and listens to her soothing voice a little too closely. He feels like he's doing something wrong, even though he's really not. He's just kind of… listening. His eyes fall to her legs, and his mind becomes hazier. She is _definitely_ not the sixteen year-old girl he met back on the farm. Fighting in the apocalypse has shaped her into a woman – a very beautiful, long-legged woman with blonde hair that fell in waves down her back.

She sets her hairbrush on the sink and stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her time here has changed her, and not just emotionally. There's a small scar just under her eye that she covers well with makeup and would never show to anyone. Every time she sees it, it's just a casual reminder that this is her life – that this is really happening. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and pauses when she catches movement in the reflection behind her. Scared that it's a walker, she grabs her knife instinctively from the sink and turns around quickly.

"Sorry," Daryl says defensively, looking everywhere but her, "Didn't think anyone was up."

She sighs in relief and lowers her guard, running a restless hand over her face. "It's okay. You just scared me."

He feels guilty, and gives her a courteous nod before turning to leave.

"Wait," she stops him, then moves her gaze to her bare feet. It's strange how nervous he makes her, and she can't really understand it. No one else in their group has that effect on her, and she's never really noticed it until a few nights ago when she was cleaning him up. It was the first time she'd touched him, the first time she'd seen how muscular he actually was, and how soft his skin was in comparison to his rugged exterior. It was enticing to her, in a way that she knew was sort of wrong. Like he was there, but not _really_ there. And lately she's found herself staring at him, but always managed to look away the second he looked back. Maybe that's childish, she decides, but that's the kind of girl he makes her feel like.

"What?" He breaks her out of her daze and she jumps back slightly. For a second, he wonders why she's so jumpy.

Then he remembers.

"Ya alright, Beth?" he inquires, daring to step further into the room. The closeness makes his heart pound harder in his chest, and warmth fills his chest when he smells her bodywash. He remembers several times when Maggie would grab a few sweet-smelling bottles while on runs. If you ask him, it's a waste of a trip – walkers don't care what you smell like. But she just smells _so_ good right now; it almost reminds him of…

"Yeah," she interrupts his thoughts, and he silently thanks her for not letting him go _there._ "Can you help me get my necklace on? It always takes me forever try'na clasp it."

He's almost dumbfounded by her request, and he's sure she can see it written on his face. Still, he quietly slips over to her and forces his eyes to stay focused on the silver necklace she hands him instead of the slightly damp porcelain skin in front of him. She pulls her hair to one shoulder and he swallows when it reveals small droplets of water painting down more smooth skin before landing delicately on the towel's fabric. He's nervous, for the first time in a long time, he's actually fucking nervous and it makes him want to rip his hair out. _Nothing_ makes Daryl nervous.

The tiny chain is splayed against his palm as he looks at the pendant: a small heart – not even the size of his thumbnail – with the letters "H + A" engraved in the shine. He wonders for a moment what the letters could mean, but pushes the thought aside as he brings the piece around her shoulder and lays it flat against her chest. From this angle, he silently notices where it falls in the valley between her breasts, just above where the towel covers them. He pretends to struggle with the clasp for just a second to prolong their close proximity, but skillfully loops the clasp and lets it fall against the back of her neck. She looks up at him from over her shoulder, and his eyes meet hers finally. They're a shiny kind of bluish gray, and he's startled by the reminder that this isn't the first time he's noticed how haunting they are.

Their eyes linger on each other's a little too long, and she's the first to turn away. She smiles innocently, turning her body to face his before she can realize that's probably not the best idea. She doesn't notice his eyes falling over the skin of her chest and he's really thankful for that. "Thanks." She says sweetly, her soft voice just barely above a whisper. It's enough of a wake-up call for Daryl, the pitch and the delicacy of her voice reminding him of her young age. If he's being honest, he can't really remember whether or not she's even of legal age yet. She interrupts his mental math before he can add up the years. (But he's pretty sure. Yeah, she's definitely eighteen.)

"My parents," she chimes, and he furrows his eyebrows in confusion before he notices her gesture to the pendant of her necklace. She's answering his unasked question, and if this were any other situation, he'd wonder how she knew… "'Hershel and Annette.' Daddy gave this to Mama the day they got married. She was wearing it when she—" she stops herself, visibly swallowing a lump in her throat as she looks down.

She hadn't realized until now how close they are to each other…

She's crying now, but not _really_ crying. Her vision's blurred and when she blinks it away, she can feel a trail of wetness slide down her cheek. She gets like this every time and she hates it. She especially hates that she's crying in front of _him_. She feels a warm hand on her cheek, skin calloused from his years in the apocalypse. He swipes the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone, collecting the stray tear and wiping it away. She absently leans into his palm, inhaling the mixed scent of his own and dirt. The roughness of his skin fell in perfect contrast to the creaminess of her own.

He listens intently to the short sound of her breath and wets his lips as he leans in just a bit closer. It takes him a split second to realize this could go a lot further than it should, and forces himself to pull away. The solemn look on her innocent face says more than he wishes it would, and before either of them can say a word, he's turned around and headed for the hallway.

She opens her mouth to say something, but can only watch his back as it disappears.

She's stuck.

.

_TBC._


End file.
